A_Tale_of_Two_Cities_NT

A Tale of Two Cities
‘Everybody says it is but one of several, and that there
will be others—if there are not already-banishing all
emigrants, and condemning all to death who return. That
is what he meant when he said your life was not your
own.’
‘But there are no such decrees yet?’
‘What do I know!’ said the postmaster, shrugging his
shoulders; ‘there may be, or there will be. It is all the
same. What would you have?’
They rested on some straw in a loft until the middle of
the night, and then rode forward again when all the town
was asleep. Among the many wild changes observable on
familiar things which made this wild ride unreal, not the
least was the seeming rarity of sleep. After long and lonely
spurring over dreary roads, they would come to a cluster
of poor cottages, not steeped in darkness, but all glittering
with lights, and would find the people, in a ghostly
manner in the dead of the night, circling hand in hand
round a shrivelled tree of Liberty, or all drawn up together
singing a Liberty song. Happily, however, there was sleep
in Beauvais that night to help them out of it and they
passed on once more into solitude and loneliness: jingling
through the untimely cold and wet, among impoverished
fields that had yielded no fruits of the earth that year,
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